Dissolve
by roboticdragons
Summary: It was kind of weird. He'd spent so long in an unchanging hellish form that was barely a body, and suddenly everything was changing. Whether it was a good or bad change Sammy had yet to decide. - Sammy-centric, may have Samsie later on - WRITTEN BEFORE CHAPTER 3
1. Cold

It was kind of weird. He'd spent so long in an unchanging hellish form that was barely a body, and suddenly everything was changing. Whether it was a good or bad change Sammy had yet to decide. But, he mused, any change must be better than just existing, just being, and never, ever, seeing anything different. Better than more lucid days spent grasping at memories flickering through his mind, trying to get just a glimpse of the man he used to be.

It had begun...well, he couldn't give an exact date for when it had begun. When all you see is the rotten interior of a crumbling animation studio, time lost a lot of its meaning. Since sleeping had become not only unnecessary but seemingly impossible, it was hard to discern when it was day or night, or how many days had passed. Faintly he recalled feverishly etching tally marks into some wall, back when he'd just got trapped in there. Back when he still held out hope of escaping the studio, back when (he shuddered in disgust and self-loathing) he had feared his saviour instead of worshipping him.

Back to the change. It had begun when he was in a less-lucid state, having resorted to spending hours collapsed in front of one of the many, many shrines. He had been kneeling there, faint prayers escaping his lips with every shallow breath he took , when he noticed a strange feeling running down his arms. The fact that he was even feeling anything other than overwhelming numbness was strange in of itself, but what he felt was even stranger. It was a terrifying, powerful coldness, one that made his arms wrap instinctively round his chest, trying to shield himself form the chill that felt like it was covering his body.

And then, like it never been there, the terrible cold vanished, leaving the pathetic ink creature panting on his knees. What was...that? Snapping back to a more lucid state, Sammy glanced left and right. Nothing was there, except a cut-out of Bendy staring coldly down at him. No one had seen it. No one was here. He was alone. Feeling a laugh, or maybe a sob, rising in his throat, Sammy scrambled to his feet and hurried off back to his office, collapsing in his chair. Hopefully, this was a one time thing.

It wasn't a one time thing.

A while passed and these moments of coldness continued. As previously mentioned he had no way of calculating time, but if he had to make a guess he's say about once every two days. There was never any warning , and he was always left collapsed on the floor, mind and body numb, wondering what he'd done to deserve this sort of punishment. Was...was it Bendy's doing? As soon as that thought arose he shook his head, drops of ink flying everywhere, and hugged his knees closer to his chest. No. That was implying that his Lord was displeased with him and that meant his Lord was unfair, because he'd done nothing wrong! Everything he had done for the past however many years had been for his Lord, how could he deserve punishment? But the more he sat there, ink spilling out onto the wood, the more he considered Bendy, his saviour, the only thing keeping him from trying to rip his cursed body apart, and permanently freeing himself from his wretched existence once and for all, being the one responsible for his continued suffering.

He spent the next 16 hours or so sitting there, knees hugged to his chest, almost completely still. He may have screamed a bit, yelling nonsense at the walls, at the floors, at the ink. He may have sobbed, droplets of ink sliding down his face (his mask had been cast aside in the cold fit, and lay in a puddle on the floor, ink soaking into the cardboard), and dripping down endlessly. And he may have simply sat in silence, thinking. Whatever he did, near the end of those 16 hours he noticed his vision darkening around the edges, not from ink, it wasn't drippy enough, but the darkening that meant he was falling unconscious. 'Huh' he thought as his mind melted away into sleep, 'That hasn't happened in a while.'. 


	2. Memory

When Sammy came to, he found himself lying on the floor in his office, where he'd passed out. A wave of relief washed over him as he realized he was not, in fact, dead or dissolved into a puddle on the floor, as he feared he would if he ever fell asleep. That, coupled with a terrible lurking feeling of unease that seemed to increase when he had nothing to focus on, had kept him from falling asleep in the many years he'd been trapped down there. Luckily, it seemed like his body didn't require sleep to keep living. His relief soon turned into confusion as what he was lying in caught his attention - a pentagram, ink freshly drawn. This was worrying, because as far as he knew he was the only one in the studio with enough sentience and dexterity to draw pentagrams. So a pentagram he had no memory of drawing was quite...worrying...memory...his memories. For the first time since waking up, he fully thought about himself, whether he had changed at all and...and...

Memories. _His_ memories. They were...they were coming back...memories of before the machine, before the studio even! Sammy felt a smile creep up his face, then felt it twist downwards as pain invaded his head like a raging fire. He clutched his head, a scream tearing out of his mouth, as memory after memory poured into his head, overwhelming him and wiping any thoughts milliseconds after they appeared. He just couldn't handle it. He **couldn't** _ **handle it**_!

Overtime the burning fire cooled, and he was left lying on the floor yet again. But the memories remained, and although his head didn't feel like it was going to implode, it was still a lot to take in. His life before the horrors committed in the studio, it was all there. He...he had a family, a lover! People who liked him, people who loved him, people who...hadn't looked for him.

That realization hit him hard. If he'd had people who'd cared for him, and loved him, why had no one entered the studio? Surely, surely someone figured out he was still trapped in the studio, they must have! Where else could he be? Unless...they thought he was dead. In a way, for a while he had been dead, almost no memory of who he'd been, who he'd known, only the knowledge that he _had_ to get free, and the only thing that could set him free was the powerful being lurking in the pipes and shadows.

Bendy...He felt a pang of guilt shake his rapidly destabilising form. In his excitement, he had forgotten his Lord. All thoughts of the demon being unfair were forgotten as he considered his saviour being the deliverer of these lost memories. Yes, yes! It must be Bendy, his Lord was pleased with him. Those cold fits...they were a test! Yes, that was it. Sammy had survived the test, and these memories were a reward! His mind lost focus on the possibility that his loved ones thought he was dead, and instead he busied himself with kneeling near the cut-out outside his office, and yelling joyous prayers for the demon. Oh what a generous Lord! This was better than any other gift his Lord had given him (among which were the suspenders he wore, the mask, and knowledge of the different pentagrams needed to please his Lord), this was a revelation of immense proportions!

An hour was spent praying and drawing new pentagrams, before his attention was drawn back to the one he'd woken up in. It must have had a connection to his regained memories (which he still had yet to sit down and really look through, being preoccupied with discovering the existence of relationships before the studio, and then praising Bendy), so...what was that connection. It couldn't have been Bendy that actually drew the pentagram. As brilliant as his Lord was, the glorious ink that made up Bendy made it impossible for the demon to draw a pentagram without smudging and messing it up. Sammy had the same problem, back when he first had the idea of appealing to Bendy to set him free, before he gained some semblance of control of whether the ink dripped from his hands and arms. However had he tried, though, he couldn't reform his legs and feet into something human-looking. It made putting on the clothes he had _very_ difficult. Thankfully, there wasn't much need to take of his clothes in the studio, so that problem didn't arise very often

So the pentagram couldn't be the work of his saviour, or it would be smudged and surrounded with claw marks. None of the searchers could have drawn it. Sammy wasn't sure how much sentience they had, or even where they came from, but they definitely couldn't draw a round circle, let alone an intricate demonic one. That left...well, that left no one. Unless...Sammy rushed to the normally shut off area of the music department. The room had a pole in the middle of it, in preparation of any unfortunate soul caught wandering round the studio that looked like the _perfect_ sacrifice for his Lord. He ran past the pole (well, less ran and more speed-walked as fast as his gloopy feet would allow) and into the long corridor, ducking underneath planks on wood. Sliding round the corner, he came face to face (or face to mask - before he began praying he'd put his mask back on, to show respect to the demon who'd given him so much) with...an empty corridor. The same corridor that had, for the past 30 years or so, been filled with ink and broken planks of wood, completely blocked off even to him. Now there wasn't even a scrap of evidence that this hallway had ever been blocked off. Sammy took a deep breath - he was nervous, this was a part of the studio even his returned memories were hazy about. He'd stayed far away from it, because he...what was that reason? It was there, just unclear, like he needed to look a bit closer, **focus** a bit more...

With a jolt of fear, Sammy noticed his vision darkening round the edges again. No! _No_! He was just about to enter a new place for the first time in _so many_ years! He couldn't pass out now! But, as his body crumpled and fell to the floor, he didn't feel the void of unconscious pulling his mind into its grasp. Instead, he felt a memory getting clearer and clearer, and the answer to what was happening became clear as well.

He was about to have a flashback.


	3. A New Place

_The day had been going horribly. However hard he tried, Sammy just couldn't seem to get the right notes. The almost-perfect song was driving him insane, and the deadline hung over his head like the blade of a guillotine. It didn't help that people had been going in and out of his office all day, running back and forth to the newly installed pump switch. The switch was yet another example of why Joey Drew was a terrible boss and an even more terrible person in general. The man's complete disregard for other's wellbeing rivalled Sammy's, although Mr Drew managed to be a horrible human being with a big smile on his face._

 _Sammy groaned; a dull pain behind his eyes gave the early warning of a headache, a common occurrence in the stuffy,_ ** _loud_** _studio. He glanced at the clock, sighed, and stood up. It was 1 minute till his break, he might as well go now. Rushing past musicians and voice actors, he reached the stairwell._

 _It was flooded._

 _Suppressing the urge to start yelling right then and there, Sammy spun on his heels, ready to run right through the music department and to the other stairway. Just as he started on his rage-filled journey, a figure seemed to appear from nowhere, running just as frantically in the opposite direction. They crashed into each other, and as Sammy stumbled backwards and rubbed his head, he recognised them. It was Susie Campbell. The woman had been hired 3 weeks ago to voice most background characters. While Sammy hadn't really interacted with her up until this point, he admired her voice talent and how she managed to create a completely different voice for every character._

 _Susie nervously ran her hand through her hair. "Oh, gosh, sorry Mr Lawrence! I shouldn't've been runnin', I just wanted to get to the break room first, the line for the coffee machine gets really long if you're not there in the first 5 minutes."_  
 _"It's...fine." Sammy replied, "But there's no point in going to that stairwell. It's flooded again."_  
 _Susie's face fell at the prospect of no coffee during break, but soon brightened again. That was another thing Sammy secretly respected Susie for ; her ability to be optimistic in this hell studio was admirable, if not sometimes annoying and naïve. "Isn't there another stairway through the maintenance corridors? We can just go through there!"_

 _Sammy nodded, and the two co-workers set off. They reached the entrance to the corridors, and..._

...

That was it. Sammy - the inky one - jolted upwards. Why? Why did the flashback have to end there? Even with the majority of his memories restored, he still couldn't quite recall all of his memories of the studio. With a gurgling sigh, the man rose to what was technically his feet and leant against the wall. Well, the only thing he could do was press on and try to regain his remaining lost memories.

The corridor lead onwards, twisting and turning like the caverns of a great cave. Sammy found himself getting aggravated with the seemingly endless maze of leaky pipes and loose cogs. About an hour must have passed before he heard something he hadn't heard in 30 years. Melodic singing seemed to drift into the room like smoke, and he found himself drawn further into the maze, desperate to find the source. The pathways were still repetitive and confusing, but he didn't have his previous aggravation. Instead, the soothing sound seemed to fill his head and blur his thoughts.

Just as he seemed to be almost at the voice, a harsh yell cut through his mind like a razor. ' ** _Don't trust her!_** ' it yelled, and Sammy was quick to recognise the voice of his saviour. ' ** _She is also a traitor! She'll fill your head with blasphemous thoughts and corrupt you!_** '

Anytime before this time, Sammy would have immediately obeyed his Lord, and would have followed his orders without question. Being directly spoken to by the Saviour was rare, and Sammy took every opportunity he was given to please his Lord. Now, however, treacherous doubt filled his mind along with the singing. He didn't know why, but something about his Lord had _changed_. Maybe something had, or maybe Sammy had gotten a new perspective from the flashback combined with the memories. Either way, Sammy did the one thing he'd promised _never_ to do in the many years he'd worshipped Bendy.

 **He disobeyed**


End file.
